


A Boy and his Pup

by tatecorrigan



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, Gen, Plotless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-19
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-04-05 03:12:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4163472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatecorrigan/pseuds/tatecorrigan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every War Boy was required to help with at least one of the newborns before going out, shiny and Witnessed, on the Fury Road.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Feed

**Author's Note:**

> Plotless drabble inspired by the tags on this tumblr post: http://somethingaboutamagpie.tumblr.com/post/121795476631 (specifically: #slit crying back sarcastically when the baby cries)

“ _Aaaah wwaaah_ , yeah, you little shit, I’m hungry, too.” Slit answered. The pup’s cries continued unabated. “It’s comin’, it’s comin’,” he muttered, trying to fit the rubber nipple over the bottle without spilling any of the milk contained within. The pup squirmed, face screwed up in displeasure, stopping to breathe only momentarily before letting loose another wail. “Fuckfuckfuck,” Slit breathed.

He managed to slip the nipple into the pup’s mouth, which easily latched and began suckling hungrily. Balancing the bottle, Slit breathed a deep sigh as he rocked the feeding pup, face now half-hidden in the fabric of the sling tied over Slit’s shoulder. He began to slowly pace the hall, back and forth, forward and back. In the stillness of deep night, this was the best place to feed the tiny bub without waking the other War Boys, or worse, the other pups. He was already bone-tired, he didn’t need an entire kennel of crying pups and their exhausted War Boy guardians glowering at him, too.

 _Every Boy gets a Pup_ , he remembered. Every War Boy was required to help with at least one of the newborns before going out, shiny and Witnessed, on the Fury Road. It built stronger bonds between War Boys, the Imperator said, and reminded each of them of where they had come from: soft, weak little things, forged over time into hard-muscled, steel-eyed, ferocious battle machines. _Remember what the Immortan gave you, what he does for all of us._ By V8, it was hard to remember sometimes, when the little pup wouldn’t stop fussing and kicking, and Slit couldn’t fit under a car quite as well with the pup strapped to his chest, and he was just so tired all the time, too tired to go down to the fighting pits once the pup was asleep, even for a little bit, just one fight, to get him feeling like his old self again.

The pup had gone quiet. The bottle was nearing empty, so Slit eased the nipple out of the pup’s mouth and tucked the bottle into an empty pocket. He shifted, and slid down the rocky wall until he was sitting. He brought the pup to his shoulder, small heart beating steadily against his chest. He patted and rubbed its back, bouncing slightly, to get it to burp. “Can’t have any air in our fuel lines, bub,” he whispered. The pup accommodated him with a series of belches, the last one hearty enough that he could feel it rumble. He laughed quietly despite himself. “Quite an engine you’ve got, eh?”

He continued to rock and pat a few minutes more before carefully sliding the pup back into the sling. In a moment he’d get up, take the pup back to its crib in the kennels, and maybe manage a few hours of sleep before daybreak. He looked down to see the pup already nearly asleep. One of his roughened thumbs gently stroked at the pup’s downy scalp. He’d be due for his first shave, soon. Slit didn’t relish the thought of convincing Nux to hold the pup still while he shaved its head, but he trusted Nux with the razor even less. Let the pup _earn_ his scars, without subjecting him to Nux’s shoddy blade work. At that, Slit smiled, imagining Nux’s hurt expression; he never could handle the harsh truth well. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall, still gently petting at the pup’s head.

He was still seated when the dim rays of first light began to stream into the halls of the Citadel, the pup close to his chest, breathing steadily in time with Slit as they both slept.


	2. Sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the baby meme prompt on tumblr: "It's your turn. I rocked him earlier."

"It's your turn. I rocked him earlier."

“You did _not_ , you fucking liar,” Slit shot back, struggling to sit up in the dark. He hurried despite the objection to Nux’s blatant lie. While the Pup was starting to grumble, he was still relatively quiet, and Slit wanted to keep it that way until he could get the Pup away from the bunks. “He’s not even your Pup,” he hissed, hastily pulling on his boots.

“’Zactly,” Nux yawned, “get him outta my bunk, ‘m tryna sleep.”

“ _It’s not ‘your’ bunk_ ,” Slit growled. He snatched the squirming, half-asleep Pup from between Nux and the wall of the bunk, almost recklessly throwing the Pup over his shoulder and storming out, albeit as quietly as possible.

Nux rolled over, throwing an arm over his face. As he began to doze off, he could hear the Pup’s cries rising to full volume, then fading again as it was carried away to cry in solitude.

Hours later, Nux awoke to dim sunlight streaming through the ventilation grates in the barracks. He stretched, then turned to look when his limbs didn’t hit another body. Slit was gone, and the Pup with him. He slid from the bunk, careful not to step on his neighbor’s hand as he descended. Grabbing his boots, he padded down the hall, peeking into dark corners, checking for Slit’s form. Here and there he heard the sounds of the Citadel coming alive, but mostly the halls echoed with quiet stillness.

He wandered until he found himself in the repair bays, feet guiding him by habit to the Coupe. She was due for a tune-up soon; he’d noticed a sluggishness on her last patrol that worried him. But the tune-up was soon forgotten when he saw his Lancer, sitting on the back of the car, cradling the Pup in his arms.

“Didn’t know where you’d gone,” Nux greeted as he approached. “Woke up and you weren’t there.”

“Had to get the Pup out before he woke anyone else,” Slit answered morosely.

Nux paused a few feet away. “I thought you’d come back, though.”

Slit shrugged with one shoulder, arms full of sleeping infant. “Got up here and he fell asleep so quick, didn’t wanna wake him up again.”

“You could sleep in the kennels, the Pups don’t mind.” The Pups loved when a War Boy, tending to their assigned infant, troubled with sickness or colic, would visit them and tell stories of vicious fights with raiders, brothers Witnessed in battle, and the golden highways of Valhalla.

“Yeah, I should just sleep on the floor, with a buncha Pups crying all night, that’d be _real_ shine, Nux.” Slit snorted.

“They’re not that bad,” Nux countered.

“’Sides, it gets cold down there,” Slit continued.

“The Pups could keep you warm.”

Slit made a face. “’m not gonna bunk up with a bunch of Pups, all kickin’ me in the face, I get enough of that from you. _And_ him,” he nodded, indicating the Pup.

Nux went quiet, his thick brows stitched together in concern. Slit feigned interest in the Pup, but from the edge of his vision he could see Nux staring at his boots, concentrating. Slit didn’t say anything, just waited.

“I could help,” Nux finally managed. “I mean—if you want, I could try—I dunno, but I could…” his voice trailed off, his hands wringing.

Slit looked up at him for a long moment, chewing the inside of his cheek contemplatively. Nux blinked rapidly several times, but didn’t look away. Finally Slit looked away, sighing heavily through his nose. He jerked his head toward the back of the Coupe and scooted over to make room.

“C’mon, then,” he grumbled. Nux jumped up lightly onto the platform, settling cross-legged, his thigh firm against Slit’s in the small space. “Hold your arms out, like mine,” Slit instructed, and quickly slid the Pup into Nux’s crossed arms.

Nux’s breath hitched momentarily as he rebalanced. “Is this right?”

Slit nodded. “Make sure you’ve got his head,” Slit rearranged a dangling leg. “There you go, easy enough.” He leaned back on the Coupe, stretching out his newly freed arms as the blood flowed back into sore joints and stiff muscles.

Nux gawped down at the sleeping Pup. “He’s heavy,” he breathed.

“Like a rock. Organic says he’ll probably be big. Too big for Lancin’, prob’ly.”

Nux shook his head. “Nah, he’d do okay for it! You could teach him.”

“We’ll never know, really,” Slit raised a hand to the back of his neck, scratching absently. “Once he goes back after the year we won’t have any idea who he is. Could become anything.” He lightly smacked at Nux’s shoulder. “Could be a Driver.”

Nux grinned at that, and briefly his whole face lit up at the idea, before relaxing again as he watched the sleeping child. “He could be a pretty _chrome_ Driver. Maybe I’ll end up teachin’ him.”

“Yeah, well.” Slit shot him a look, suddenly suspicious. “What’s it matter to you, though? He’s not your Pup.” It wasn’t unusual for Boys to get attached to their Pups in the year they had them, but typically the other Boys remained largely unaffected.

Nux glanced up at him, a small smile growing from the corner of his scarred mouth. “Well, he’s your Pup,” he paused and swallowed, “but you’re _my_ Lancer.”

Slit was still for a moment, thoughtful. Then he reached over and put his hand on the back of Nux’s neck, guiding him to turn his head. He leaned in and touched his forehead to Nux’s own, and then inclined his head further, coming to rest on Nux’s shoulder. And there they stayed, Driver, Lancer, and Pup, each dreaming of a future, shiny and chrome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major thanks to Emetic (antiemetic.tumblr.com) for reading the beta of this chapter, and also for screaming with me via Skype about War Pup headcanons. You are a delightful muse for the cutest of headcanons!


	3. Speak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another tumblr baby meme prompt: "Was that a word?"

"I dunno, was it?" Slit shrugged, glancing up quickly at Morsov, hands never stopping as they wrapped and secured the grenades to their lances. In truth, he'd gotten quite used to blocking out the Pup's sounds in recent months. He'd been cut some slack when the Pup was new, but only a few months later and he was expected to be up to speed with everyone else, the Pup slung across his back while he worked, sleeping or watching goings-on around him with mild interest.

"Sounded like it," Morsov paused to reach over to the Pup, riding in the sling tied across Slit's back, and tickled his chin. "What're ya tryin' to say, Pup? Whatcha lookin' at?" Morsov's voice had begun to ascend into that soft, breathy register he only ever used with the Pup, a sure sign he was freely abandoning his work to the tiny babbling distraction.

"Lookin' at your ugly face, unfortunately," Slit muttered under his breath, out of habit more than spite.

" _ruh buh ruh zuh!_ "

"Aw, he said you shouldn't be so nasty, Slit, you'll make a bad role model." Morsov lightly smacked Slit on the back of the head. Slit glowered, raising his hand in a threat of retaliation. Morsov just laughed.

" _rruh! bah_."

"Eh, there it is again! Tellin' ya not to turn on your brother War Boys," Morsov chuckled and picked up a bundle of lances, returning to his work.

" _wuh buhz_!"

"Okay, he definitely said 'War Boys' that time."

" _kuh buh kih ki wuh buhz!_ "

"'Kami-krazy War Boys,'" Morsov intoned. He dropped the lances again, turning and leaning against the work surface to watch the Pup with rapt attention, arms folded across his chest.

" _kuh buhh kee foo shee?_ "

"Kami-krazy Fukushima! Slit, he's sayin' it!"

Slit sniffed. "He's not sayin' it, he's just _tryin_ ' to say it."

Morsov frowned. “Well he’s tryin’, that’s important! C’mon, Slit, don’t you wanna hear his first words?”

“I’ve been hearin’ him for six months, and I’m gonna _keep_ hearin’ him for _another_ six months. Trust me, I haven’t missed _anything_. Except sleep, and food, and some time to get my _work_ done. Haven’t even been out on a raid since I got him, Nux is crawlin’ up my ass about getting in some target practice,” Slit waved a pair of pliers vaguely in the direction of the repair bays. “Don’t see him offerin’ to keep the bub while I do, though, do ya? Rusty little shit,” he added.

Morsov dropped his hands and shook his head. “You’re a piece o’ work, Slit, you really are.”

“Yeah, well, bite me,” Slit muttered, intent on untangling a set of wires.

Morsov clicked his tongue in disapproval. “S’no way to raise a Pup,” he chided, gently taking the Pup’s hand and waving it. “You come find me as soon as you can walk, Pup. I’ll teach ya how to scream like a _real_ War Boy.” With one more critical look at Slit, he grabbed his bundle of lances and walked toward the door, heading down the hall to the armory.

After Morsov was gone, Slit continued to fiddle with the wires for a few minutes more. He finally dropped the pliers, acceding defeat for the time being. He stood up straight, stretched, and sighed heavily. Slipping a hand under the knot in the sling over his shoulder, he eased the Pup around to his front, and then set him down on the work surface. The Pup, now old enough to be painted fully white, blinked up at him, reaching out for Slit’s calloused hands. “ _bah!_ ” The Pup grinned, two tiny teeth peeking out along his bottom gumline.

“Hey, bub,” Slit greeted, looking over the Pup and checking the cloth diaper wrapped around the Pup’s waist. “Gettin’ kinda mouthy today, aren’t ya?”

“t _ah buh_.” Little feet kicked, and small hands gripped and waggled the fingers on one of Slit’s larger hands.

“Yeah, he’s a piece of shit, too.”

Soft eyes gazed up, brown ringed in green. Slit picked up the Pup with both hands, raising him up to eye level. Carefully he brought the Pup close, until they were nose to painted nose. Then he tipped his head forward, until their foreheads were touching. “But not you, bub,” he said softly. “You’re gonna be better than all of ‘em. You’re gonna be _chrome_.”

“ _wuh buhz_ ,” the Pup gurgled.

“War Boys,” Slit agreed. 


	4. Pledge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter started as an attempt to wrap up on part of this story so I could move on to the next part I have planned out. It ended with me making myself teary-eyed and having intense feelings at 3 in the morning.

“Slit,” Ace called for his attention.

Slit looked up. “Yeah?”

Ace pointed to the bundle on Slit’s back, then jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Time’s up. Pup goes back today.”

A wave of shocked surprise ran through Slit, causing him to tense and drop his tools. “What?” _What? Can’t, it’s only been…_

“S’been a year,” Ace nodded. He came to stand with his boots apart, arms crossed over his chest. This was never easy, but he was ready if Slit decided to make it harder than it had to be. “Time to get ‘im to the kennels, he’s ready for it. Time for you to get back out there, too,” he added.

_Not ready for it, too soon, not ready!_ He’d been getting back to the lancing range, adjusting more quickly than he’d anticipated to throwing lances with the Pup on his back. The Pup had even begun to echo his cries of “Ha!” whenever he would hit his mark, a quiet, elongated “aaaaah!” emanating from the sling across Slit’s back. Morsov had started practicing alongside him, reveling in the Pup’s encouragement. Morsov was somehow less abrasive, more tolerable, when his smile showed in his eyes, not just across his mouth, in response to the Pup’s chattering. Slit had been annoyed at his persistent presence at first, but quickly appreciated someone else keeping the Pup occupied on those days when he wanted to get few more throws in and the Pup wouldn’t stop squirming.

“Right. Got it.” Slit picked up his tools again, mindlessly shuffling between them as he processed the news.

Ace didn’t move. “Y’gonna be alright, yeah?” His voice was low this time, cautious.

“S’fine,” Slit answered. “I’ll take him over later. Just wanna finish this batch,” he indicated the lances piled in front of him.

Ace nodded slowly, almost imperceptibly, as he studied the Lancer hunching over his work. “Right then. Don’t wait too long, OM’s gotta look ‘im over, won’t do to keep ‘im waitin’.” As he turned to leave, Ace gave one last meaningful look at the Lancer. Slit refused to make eye contact, staring intently at the tools in his hands.

Eventually Slit returned to his work on the lances, but when Nux came to find him around midday, he was gone. Morsov shook his head and shrugged at Nux’s quizzical expression. “Took off. Dunno where, didn’t say.” He snapped his fingers, suddenly remembering. “The Pup’s going back. Ace told ‘im earlier.”

Nux’s eyes widened. He nodded his thanks to Morsov and started down the hall, the news giving hint as to where he might find Slit. He had his hiding spots, but Nux knew them all.

Nux found him, eventually, at the top of the Citadel, sitting in a shallow crevice near the ledge. He had wedged his body down, the Pup cradled in his lap as though he were trying to surround it entirely with his white painted flesh.

“Hey.”

Slit refused to look up, just sat, shaking his head. He wouldn’t— _couldn’t_ —speak.

Nux sighed. “Slit…” He struggled to find the words. After a moment he gave up, stepped down into the crevice, his head now level with Slit’s. He leaned back against the warm rock, hands jammed into his pockets. He waited.

For a long moment there was quiet between them, the only sounds those of the creaking windmills and the distant _clack-clack_ of the massive lift chains moving equipment between levels in the repair bays. Slit sniffed, and when he spoke his voice was husky, raw.

“Thought about runnin’.” He sniffed again. “Thought about—about jus’ takin’ him, and takin’ a bike, and leavin’.” He turned to look at Nux, and his face was blotchy under the thinning layer of white, eyes reddened in dark pits of black paint. “But what kind of half-life is that, huh? Who’s gonna Witness him if I do that?”

Nux said nothing. He found Slit’s confession quietly shocking; that he had even considered leaving the Citadel— _and what? Going rogue in the Wasteland with a Pup strapped to his back?_ —was practically heretical. Nux keyed in instead on Slit’s last words. “Can’t be Witnessed by a Pup, he wouldn’t even know how.”

Slit dismissed Nux’s comment with a wave of his hand. “Ah, that don’t matter so much. Prob’ly gonna die soft, anyway, rustfucker like me.” He flashed a wan smile. “He deserves better, though. Gotta be historic, gotta be _chrome_ ,” he hoisted the Pup up, tapping foreheads. The Pup smiled, showing a smattering of tiny white teeth, and giggled. Slit brought him in, hugging the Pup close, gently rubbing his hand along the Pup’s back. His face disappeared as he turned away from Nux, burying his nose in the smell of clay paint and Mother’s Milk and the Pup’s own delicate scent.

When he raised his head again, he looked at Nux, his face hardened. “Alright,” he said, and then turned to say it again to the Pup, his features softening slightly. “Alright, bub. Let’s do this, eh? Let’s teach ya how to fang it.” And when he looked back at Nux, his gaze was clear, chin held high.

“Let’s fang it,” Nux said, and then turned, climbing out of the hiding place, reaching back to take the Pup so Slit could pull himself up.

\---

It was quick, simple. Slit removed the sling over his back, wrapped the loose fabric around the Pup, and handed him to Organic, hesitating only slightly as the cloth slipped out of his fingers. _For the last time_. Organic eyed the Pup, checking him over for any severe injuries or lumps or anything else that might need the Boy’s explanation, and then nodded. “He’s good to go,” Organic said, passing the Pup to one of the kennel minders, an older Pup with a limp. 

Nux watched as the Pup was taken away. For not the first time in his half-life, Nux was disturbed to consider how differently his life could have gone: there was no promise of Valhalla, of being awaited, for those who could not stand up for war. _There but for V8’s grace_ , he thought. He looked to Slit, as he often did in these moments, for a joke or dismissive comment, something to remind him that he was shiny, practically half-machine, silly for letting the worry tarnish him. But Slit said nothing. He had not seen. His eyes were closed, fighting to keep his water from leaking out.

\---

Time passed, each day advancing and receding with the same unyielding pace as the sand dunes out in the Wasteland, driven by the relentless wind. For five days Slit said nothing, only acknowledging those who spoke to him with dead stares and grunts. Fifteen days later he returned Nux’s smile when the Driver showed him a spark plug he’d found, dusty, scratched, but whole. Eight days after that, he laughed for the first time, throwing his head back and guffawing obnoxiously at some dirty joke told over the evening meal. He clapped his hand on Nux’s shoulder to support himself as he doubled over. The impact stung, but Nux savored the echo of Slit’s cackling.

Forty-three days after the Pup had left their bunk forever, Slit turned to Nux in the darkness of deep night, seeking comfort in chaste kisses and a warm hand stroking his back as he attempted, but failed, to suffocate the sobs that ripped their way from his throat.

When weak, reflected sunlight again touched his face, he was already awake, exhausted but calm. He thought of the Pup, then; his nameless Pup with painted skin, thick legs and strong hands. His Pup, who would make a real shine Lancer someday. Or a Driver. Didn’t matter, really, as long as the bub went out Witnessed. _Shiny and chrome,_ he thought, and the thought startled him for its reverence, brought him to his feet. In the stillness of the early morning, airborne dust motes glinting in the pale light, his boots seemed to possess their own volition. They carried him, quietly, through the stony passageways of the Citadel, until he found himself striding into the V8 chamber.

A group of Pups, sleepy eyes large and dark in their still-round faces, stood in prayer, their hands clasped above their heads in the sign of V8 as they whispered their daily devotions. Slit moved silently behind them, only the stirring in the air alerting two or three near the door to his presence. They glanced up, but quickly looked down again as the hardened, intimidating figure of a full-grown War Boy moved between them. Slit raised his hands in perfect angles, gestures long practiced over the years of his half-life. “By my deeds, I honor him; V8.” he incanted, then dropped his arms and moved away. He watched the Pups, shifting on their feet, some straining to keep their arms in the air, still soft and weak and learning. _Remember where you come from_ , he thought to himself. _Remember where they’ll go_.

Slit made a pledge, then, standing in the shadows of the chamber, watching the Pups struggling through their prayers. He remembered where these Pups would go, where all Pups—where _his_ Pup—would go. And he pledged to do what he could, in the brief span of his half-life, to do what he could to make sure these Pups would grow up strong, and safe, and ready, when the time came, to die historic on the Fury Road. He’d make sure they had each other, to Witness and be Witnessed by, as they went out chroming. He’d teach them what it meant to be a War Boy, dedicated to serve and do war for the glory of the Immortan, the Citadel, and each other. And when that fated day arrived, when he himself could no longer give anything but his wretched half-life, he pledged to go out in a flaming fury heading straight for Valhalla, to ride eternal, so that each of these Pups may one day, _some_ day, be Awaited.

He would wait for them, these Pups. He would wait for these heroes, these heroes of all time.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're so inclined, you can find my Slit RP blog over at http://slitthelizardking.tumblr.com/. I also blog as a less Mad Max-obsessed person at http://rainbowterrarist.tumblr.com.


End file.
